


back to back, braced against the world

by AwayLaughing



Series: Arafinwean Week 2019 [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Brothers, Canonical Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Dagor Bragollach, F/M, Gen, Helcaraxë, Years of the Trees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwayLaughing/pseuds/AwayLaughing
Summary: Angrod and Aegnor, from the shores of Aman, to distant Beleriand, and back again.





	back to back, braced against the world

**Author's Note:**

> Arafinwean week, day 3!

The summer storms in Alqualondë did not usually get that bad, crashing thunder and flashing lightning or not. Angaráto quite liked to sit curled up and watching them, actually. Usually with a cup of cocoa, and always, since he was old enough to walk, Aikanáro curled up beside him.

“You shouldn’t come watch if you don’t like them, Aiko,” he said what must have been the hundredth time in their life.

“I want to!” Aiko said. “Or I want to be with you. And the lightning is cool, I don’t know why the thunder has to be so loud though.”

“Perhaps the sky is happy, and it’s laughing,” Angaráto suggested, more to lighten Aiko’s mood than out of any belief. Aiko eyed him, clearly seeing the play for what it is.

“No one laughs like that,” he said. “But no matter, you are here.”

“I am,” Angaráto said, tucking Aiko a little more securely against his side. Aiko was still small enough to snuggle in, which was a glad thing indeed, because Angaráto rather liked doing so.

* * *

Sometimes, Aikanáro thought he was going to shake out of his skin, or that he was going to freeze right down to fëa. Being entangled with Arto and his family – and Resto’s depressingly tiny charges helped. Artë, curled up against his side and dozing with a child on her lap helped exponentially, just because it was a ridiculous thing to witness.

“If you wake the children and make my son a Kinslayer I shan't forgive you,” Arto said. At some point during the storm people had shifted. One of the children, a usually very forward little girl who belonged to one of Íryë’s hunters, was splayed across his lap. Arto and Lótë where behind him, back to back with the rest of them to trap more heat. It made Arto’s voice rumble, past his spine and into his ribs. An odd feeling to an elf who had not sat in a lap for many years.

“Resto is more than fast asleep,” Aikanáro said, eyeing the boy, who’s face was the only thing visible between the three boys and the blankets. His eyes were closed, one arm banded around a young body, the other draped over one of the great shaggy wolf-dogs who had invited itself in to avoid the storm. Aikanáro was glad the animals had such sense, and gladder still they’d decided they were still too useful to eat. Three dogs in a tent and you barely needed another elf, between the fur and the body heat. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

For a long moment Arto did not speak, and Aikanáro thought he wasn’t going to answer. “The wind,” he said finally. “I dreamt the voice of our dead were carried on it, and it woke me. Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“My bladder,” Aikanáro said blandly, shocking a chuckle from his brother.

“You poor thing,” his brother said.

“It is a hardship,” Aikanáro agreed. “Most here would agree with me.”

“We endure much,” his brother said. “But so long as we are we, I think we can overcome.”

“Yes, if it gets bad enough I shall just warm myself with song, and then you can carry my sleeping ass along for the week it takes me to recover,” Aikanáro said with grim cheer. At first, their songs had been strong, but it had been a hard journey and now they used their arts only in the direst of circumstances. Some could not use them at all, all their power already enthralled in keeping them going.

“If I must, I will,” Arto said, tone matching. “Never doubt me, brother.”

And Aikanáro didn’t. Next to him, Resto shifted.

“’s the storm past?” he asked, eyes not opening.

“Not yet, go back to sleep,” Arto said, risking a hand from under the blankets to reach out and press a hand to Resto’s silver head. Resto frowned.

“But I need to pee.”

For the record, it was Arto who woke the children.

* * *

The sky was thick with choking smoke, which made it hard to tell friend from foe. For nigh two days they had been fighting without reprieve, as best he could. Angrod’s horse had collapsed from under him in sheer exhaustion, and he could not blame her. Their Edain allies had not fared much better, not made to fight without pause of drink or water. And around them the undulating mass of black bodies never let up. The only breathing space they won was in putting mountains of bodies between. There was not much point either, other than taking as many of the enemy down with them as they could.

The few defenders standing knew they would not live. They couldn’t. Angrod knew in his bones there was no force on this Middle-Earth which could come for them.

To his left, the last of the three elleth in his party went down and was hacked to pieces before anyone could react. At his back, Aegnor disappeared, and Angrod’s heart leapt into his throat until he heard the clange of metal and a grunt of exertion. Angrod lunged forward, managing to clear himself just enough space to breathe, and when he stepped back, Aegnor had returned to position, his shoulder bumping against Angrod’s back.

“Brother,” he said, voice a rasp despite his relief – oh such a momentary thing.

“Keep your breath,” Aegnor said, not sounding much better. “I know.”

Above them, a dragon roared. It said more even that Angrod’s raged tones, that neither he nor his brother could roar back any longer.

* * *

Stepping out of the Halls into sunshine after so long as, despite the sunshine being heavily filtered through some helpful trees, a bit of a shock. Still, Aegnor was glad of it, to finally feel warmth again, to feel wind and smell growing things. There had been none in the end, and none in what came after the end.

“Do you feel that?” Angrod asked, standing at his elbow.

“You’ll have to be more specific,” Aegnor said.

Angrod rolled his eyes, shooting him a look that was so wonderfully familiar. “It’s different, from before. There is...something underneath it all. Like how it felt near Angband, except well, not at all like that.”

Aegnor knew what he meant. Around them in each thing, there seemed to be a song of sorts – or at least a vibration. He did not hear it with his ears, nor feel it in his flesh, but he knew it, somewhere deeper. “Yes,” he said finally. “I know what you mean. I don’t think it’s all that different though. I still haven’t managed to shake you.”

Angrod grinned – and not all of Námo’s patience or Estë’s healing could sharpen the wolf-grin of those who had lived under the darkness of the world. It stirred Aegnor’s blood. If he were a dog, he’d start howling, but he wasn’t. He was, for the first time in over a hundred years, and elf.

And so he threw his head back, and yelled his joy as he ran; his brother on his heels.

**Author's Note:**

> Turns out, Aegnor is an unrepentant nickname user, so a translation for anyone wondering.
> 
> Aiko - Aikanáro, Aegnor  
> Arto - Angaráto, Angrod  
> Resto - Artaresto, Orodreth  
> Lótë - Eldalótë, Edhellos  
> Artë - Artanis, Galadriel  
> Iryë - Irissë, Aredhel


End file.
